


union

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anniversary, Gen, M/M, One Year Later, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 15, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Light pouring in through the window, Dean stirs, unwilling to open his eyes just yet.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 35
Kudos: 403





	union

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this art](https://artofmisi.tumblr.com/post/629548362837950464)!

Light pouring in through the window, Dean stirs, unwilling to open his eyes just yet. For once, the mattress is comfortable, the sheets are soft, and a warm body rests just a few inches away, all but his head hidden beneath the comforter. Their comforter—the one they picked out last week, in preparation for the big day. The day they left Lebanon for good, in search of greener pastures and actual sunlight.

Said sunlight greets them early this morning, pleasantly cool. Salt air wafts in through the open window, and the curtains rustle. The windchime on the porch tinkles—Castiel’s purchase, six hollow tubes all descending from a carved clamshell—breaking the silence. In a few hours, waves will crash along the shoreline, and the occasional tourist will stroll by with a camera or a child.

For the first time in a long, long time, Dean is at peace.

Fingers still tingling with sleep, Dean strokes the backs of his fingers across Castiel’s cheek, marveling at the warmth of him and how human he looks, with his hair matted to his head and drool staining his face. How human he is, Dean reminds himself. Castiel’s Grace hangs from a hook over the vanity mirror, glowing steadily throughout the day, but especially at night. The first thing they unpacked, out of all the boxes they shoved in the back of a U-Haul and drove all the way to Florida.

The rest of their belongings sit in the living room and Sam’s bedroom, shoved into whatever available space they could find late last night. At some point, they’ll organize the office and connect the cable, and even decorate the yard facing the street. For now, all of that can wait—for now, Dean smiles and strokes his thumb over Castiel’s cheek, feeling the incremental flex of his jaw as he wakes. As deeply as Castiel sleeps, he always wakes up when Dean wants him to, like even unconsciously, he craves Dean’s touch—Dean’s love, really.

Castiel loves him—and Dean loves him right back, their pact signed in blood and an unwavering forgiveness that Dean refuses to overthink ever again. Some mornings, Dean wonders how he ended up here, how he survived with his soul and all of his limbs intact, and how Castiel stayed. Sure, Castiel sometimes limps when the weather gets cooler and his hair is graying faster than Dean appreciates, but he’s alive, and that’s what counts.

Eyelids fluttering, Castiel squints at Dean, then wipes his mouth with a limp hand. “What time is it?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.

“Who cares,” Dean says, and means it. The only thing they need a clock for anymore is for when breakfast ends at the restaurant up the street. Again, he pets Castiel’s cheek, tracing a finger just under his earlobe, and Castiel hums, leaning up into Dean’s touch. “You believe this?”

“Barely.” Closing his eyes, Castiel takes Dean’s hand and laces their fingers together. “Did you wake me up to watch the sunrise?”

Dean blows a raspberry. He brings their fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s knuckles. “Sunrise is long gone, buddy. Think this is the first time you’ve slept in.”

Sighing, Castiel burrows into the sheets. “We drove for two days. I think I deserve the rest.”

Chuckling, Dean kisses the silver band around Castiel’s ring finger. Not a ring—a tattoo, one of Castiel’s last acts before he cut his Grace out of his own throat. Dean wears a matching one on his right hand, a lasting promise he won’t ever forget. “You know what day it is?”

“Friday,” Castiel mumbles. “Maybe. I forgot when we left.”

“It’s our anniversary,” Dean says. Mostly a joke, but Castiel opens his eyes, realization dawning. “Y’know, the day you yanked my ass topside.”

“I didn’t yank you,” Castiel grumbles. Leaning up on an elbow, Castiel looks down at him, pillow creases streaked across his face. “I carried you through the circles.”

“Uh-uh. You gotta say it right.” He pats Castiel’s bare hip with a grin. “C’mon, for old times’ sake.”

Eyes narrow, Castiel throws an arm around Dean’s waist, dragging him flush. “You’re irritating,” he says, but pecks Dean’s lips anyway. “Fine, if you’re so insistent.” Another kiss, this one to the skin beneath Dean’s eye. “I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

Flushed, Dean ducks his head under Castiel’s chin. “Still got it,” he says, a little solemn. “You sure… You sure this is it? Like, we’re not in Heaven or having a fever dream in a ditch?”

“That would be an extremely long dream,” Castiel says with mirth. “Probably too domestic for your tastes.”

“You kidding?” Dean kisses his neck. “I’m the king of domesticity. I bought us a cottage on the beach, didn't I?”

Castiel hums and drops a kiss to Dean’s hair. “That you did. And we should probably wake Sam, before we spend the rest of the day in bed.”

“That’s what I bought the sheets for.” Wiggling, Dean dovetails their legs. “Five more minutes? Just wanna lay here and look at you.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel flops back onto the mattress and hides his face in Dean’s shadow. As soon as he settles, Dean throws an arm around Castiel’s middle and holds him close, close enough to feel Castiel’s heart beating. “It’s also my birthday.”

 _Oh_. “That so?”

Nodding, Castiel sighs. “Angels don’t have a specific day of creation, but… I’ve adopted today as my day. Because I met you.” He palms Dean’s shoulder, fitting his fingers over the silvered, barely-there scar. “And you showed me the world.”

 _Damn_. “C’mere,” Dean mutters and drags Castiel in, morning breath be damned. Later, when Castiel tastes more like mint and less like dry mouth, Dean will kiss him like he wants, and will worship him like he deserves. It’s their day, after all. “Gonna give you the hickey of a lifetime.”

“Later,” Castiel says, then laughs, struggling away from Dean’s wandering fingertips. “I’m not scandalizing Sam or Jack when he comes over— _Dean_.”

“C’mon, live a little.” Dean smacks a wet kiss to Castiel’s cheek before he crawls out of bed, standing in front of the window in all his glory. Thankfully, no one is on the beach at this hour—small miracles. The bed frame creaks, and a pair of warm hands cradle his hips, coming to rest around his waist. And Dean holds him, their fingers joined and hearts in sync. “Happy birthday, Cas.”

Kissing Dean’s nape, Castiel holds him tight. “Happy anniversary, Dean.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to deancas anniversary day! I had an absolutely horrible morning with regards to mental health and starting a new medication, but I got well enough to write this! I love them so much, don't take them from me ;A;
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
